


The Luxury of Choice

by MxAzure



Category: Good Omens
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eden - Freeform, Friends to Lovers, Heaven, Hell, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Songfic, Strangers to Lovers, angel!Crowley, ineffable husbands, loose interpretation of the show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22214815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxAzure/pseuds/MxAzure
Summary: Before his Fall, Crowley was an angel in Heaven, more or less alone. Until the Eden Project began and everything went pear-shaped.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My darling love](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+darling+love).



> Let me start by saying that I am not a historian or a Biblical scholar so I do apologize for any inaccuracies. Also I know that having a soundtrack to a story isn’t everybody’s bag, but tough luck there. Much love to my husband and editor for all his hard work making my words pretty.

_I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint_

_I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave_

_But I want you to know that I've had no love like your love_

_-Hozier, “Nobody”_

In the beginning, there was Nothing. 

Then, from somewhere in the ether, a giggle and a _pop_ broke the silence and an angel opened iridescent amber eyes. His first sight was a dark expanse, quiet and still. Soft white wings gave an experimental stretch as the ground materialized beneath him. Rolling his shoulders, he looked curiously at the fine gold powder coating the soles of his newly formed feet. She whispered a command into his very being, and Yrian understood.

His black hair fell over sharp cheekbones as he knelt to run his fingers across the ground. He raised a dusty golden palm to the darkness and a nebula silently exploded into existence. With a brush of his hand, the cloud let loose a wave of light, refracting and multiplying and crashing backwards to tumble away into eternity. 

He grinned.

She gave him a pristine white stone courtyard in which to do his work. The walls were soon splattered with ink and stardust as he refined his artistic methods. He sketched and painted and painstakingly molded the stars. It took all of his focus. It wasn’t that he was antisocial, he had just come to understand the subtle ebb and flow of the Heavens better than he understood other angels. Those in the higher stations proved to be uptight and entitled, and he severed ties with everyone else. The distaste seemed to be mutual, and he got used to being alone. 

Needless to say, he avoided company meetings unless they promised to be interesting. He paid close attention to the loudspeaker in the center of his courtyard, his mind attuned to certain key-words. Anything to do with “relationship building” just meant trust falls. If they mentioned “team dynamic,” it meant passing around a “talking stick” and unloading emotional baggage until everyone hugged. If H.R. was involved at all somebody would cry. That said, when talk of Eden reached a fever pitch, curiosity finally won out and he left his courtyard for the pavillion.

*******

He had already abandoned his artwork to be surrounded by assholes. He wasn't about to be subjected to the pledges of faith at the opening portion of every meeting. So, strolling in during hymns and followed by a wave of irritated looks, he leaned against one of the pillars that were Heaven’s sad excuse for decorating. He watched as the angels in front of him whispered to each other, not bothering to hide their stares. He gave them a sneer and they paled, quickly turning away. He bobbed his head along to the music and idly wondered when exactly he had gotten stardust on his robes. They weren’t even his painting robes. 

When the archangel Michael appeared on stage, the cheers were deafening. Yrian wrinkled his nose and wondered how many of the attendees were really _that_ excited to be there. The intensity was hard to believe, but then he didn’t see any of Lucifer’s lot amid the congregation. He looked around feeling a prickle of unease. Their absence spoke volumes to the current state of affairs in Heaven. This meeting was supposed to be one of real importance, and if they were ignoring it he had to wonder why. 

He glanced at the program held by the angel in front of him. _Your Representatives in Eden._ It was interesting, but whether it was worth leaving his work was yet to be determined. Earth was supposed to be the next Big Thing, and the assignation of angels to the project was a step in a very divisive direction. _This will definitely ruffle some feathers_ , he thought, not without a tinge of vicious satisfaction.

Michael’s speech was all about setting aside differences for the Great Plan, and it earned Yrian a few glares. The frowns turned scandalized as soon as he twiddled his fingers at them, and he memorized their shocked expressions for future painting reference. _Make a couple of posters and suddenly you’re a pariah,_ he mused, and went back to considering the color palette for his latest piece. He wouldn’t have noticed when four new angels materialized on the stage if it weren’t for the sudden applause. He looked up and quite abruptly, nothing else mattered.

Yrian took an unconscious step forward. He noticed the stranger’s eyes first. They were the crackle of energy between particles of space dust, the color of a lightning strike, the calm before the storm. Shorter than the rest, he had tousled white hair and the most brilliant blue eyes Yrian had ever seen. Simply put, he was gorgeous. More to the point, though, he was inappropriately giddy. Yrian didn’t even know angels could _be_ giddy, but there was this flamboyant new hire standing between three stony-faced angels looking as if he’d just won an interview with God Herself. Michael introduced him as the Principality Aziraphale and there was a smattering of unenthusiastic applause.

_He’s as popular as I am,_ Yrian thought wryly. Undeterred by the chilly reception, Aziraphale gave a rather long-winded (and obviously off script) thank you and Yrian stifled a laugh. 

He watched as Aziraphale got back in line, looking bemused when Michael cut him off. It was only then that Yrian noticed the knot on his robes marking him, unbelievably, as a soldier. That explained why they’d never met, but the Principality didn’t seem remotely like his compatriots.

As if Michael could sense how confused Yrian was, she explained that the three scary looking angels and the sweet-faced dandy had been chosen to guard Eden. She handed Aziraphale an absurdly majestic flaming sword and Yrian grinned as he bounced on his heels in excitement. He did seem oddly at ease holding it, curls a glowing nimbus in the firelight. Looking out at the crowd, pride a beacon amid stoic expressions, the Principality’s gaze found the shadow where Yrian stood. They locked eyes, the crowd clapped, and an Ineffable Plan shifted trajectory.

*******

With a start, Yrian realized Michael’s closing remarks were over. Everyone began to disperse and he craned his neck to see what happened to Aziraphale. He definitely wanted to talk to him (even though he had no idea what he’d say.) But the Principality was already gone. After a lengthy search, Yrian finally gave up and went home. Feeling inexplicably lonely, he threw himself back into the piece he’d abandoned for the meeting.

He didn’t regret anything he’d done to end up at that point, but he did wish he had someone to talk to. Conversation was hard to come by in Heaven, and he wanted to suss out what had just happened back at the pavillion. 

The desire for company had been what had drawn him to Lucifer in the first place. Soft-spoken and charismatic, the angel had wandered into his courtyard and they had gotten to talking. He had complimented Yrian’s drawings in a way that implied he had more than just a passing interest in art. Lucifer’s notions about individuality were quite unique, and Yrian found they agreed on a lot of divisive issues. What was really interesting, though, was that he seemed genuinely curious as to whether Yrian was happy. Nobody had ever asked him that before, and he still wasn’t sure of the answer. 

Lucifer had come by with some frequency, and when he’d asked to use some of Yrian’s art to share his ideas, Yrian had agreed. He thought he had found someone of like mind, someone he could relate to. That was until Lucifer began calling himself The Morning Star and things got strange. Increasingly fanatical in his ideals (and aided by Yrian in the propaganda department,) Lucifer had surrounded himself with miserable yes-men and cronies. Yrian felt no compulsion to be either, so he got some distance. Not that it saved his reputation. He plucked a stray gray feather from one of his wings and pulled his brush across the paper, watching color wash over inky diagrams. 

Aziraphale had a strong pull on him, just as Lucifer did, but it felt entirely different. With Aziraphale it was like hearing a song for the first time and knowing it was about to become a favorite. It was the longing of a smell that triggers a happy memory, both new and familiar.

He barked a laugh at his own sentimentality. Pinning his dried painting to the wall, he stepped back to get a better look at the finished design. Serpentine etchings undulated through swatches of color, twisting their way across the page to culminate in a wicked fork. He shook his head to clear it. If there were answers in the ink, they weren’t forthcoming.

*******

Yrian lifted his stylus when the loudspeaker in the center of his courtyard announced that until Eden was fully underway, officials from the Upper Stations were to “oversee” other pursuits. Typical bureaucracy keeping its employees busy, or at least, keeping up the appearance of being busy. It was also a clear move to keep eyes on dissenters. Yrian’s reaction was reasonable enough, and he was wondering if he could get away with claiming that hollering at the top of his lungs was part of his “artistic process,” when the next announcement came. The Higher Ups would be touring Heavenly facilities in preparation for their new assignments, effective immediately. He wondered if he was the only one disturbed by the breach in privacy, but was resolved to keep his thoughts private. Until an entire tour group materialized in his courtyard.

Irate at the sudden appearance of about twelve sets of prying eyes in his space, Yrian turned away from his table. As an angel of a lower station, he was meant to be seen and not heard in these proceedings, but he was too mad to care. He rounded on the group, prepared to create a string of new swear words. That’s when he realized Aziraphale was there as well, standing slightly apart from the rest, arms tucked neatly behind his back. Yrian’s unnecessary breath caught in his throat. 

_It's now or never,_ he thought.

“And this is where stars are born, their majesty honoring Her love.” The guide stated with a perfectly plastic smile. Yrian quietly sauntered up to stand behind Aziraphale. He had been working on that saunter and was excited to test it out, happy to find it suited him nicely.

“Hello,” he said in his smoothest whisper, making Aziraphale jump a bit. The guide nattered on, but she didn’t seem to notice him. Those startling blue eyes were directed his way and he swallowed. “Aziraphale is it?” 

The Principality’s delicate brow furrowed from over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, do we know one another?” 

“Not yet,” Yrian said in a low voice. “But I’d love to change that. Care to ditch this place?” The guide was now singing the praises of Heaven’s ability to not only meet but _exceed_ the quarterly goals they had set for themselves. _The tedium really ought to be self-evident,_ Yrian thought.

“I’m quite content where I am actually,” Aziraphale said, a little archly and Yrian deflated. “Don’t you have stars to attend to or something…what was your name?”

“Yrian.”

“Yes. What was it you needed? I have several other locations to visit before we’re through and I really can’t be bothered with a diversion. ” 

“I have something I’d like to show you,” Yrian said, tipping his head towards the edge of the courtyard. Aziraphale’s frown was an impenetrable wall. 

“I am learning about the goings on of Heaven. I am certain I don’t have time to do… whatever it is you’re looking to do.” 

“How do you know this isn’t part of all that?” he tried and Aziraphale sighed, exasperated.

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, _Yrian,_ but big things are underway and one cannot just shirk responsibility for silly dalliances.” He looked forward resolutely and Yrian rolled his eyes behind him. The phrase was one from Sandalphon’s book almost verbatim. So Aziraphale had poor taste in friends. They had that in common. 

“You can’t be seriously interested in this nonsense,” Yrian whispered to the back of his head. When Aziraphale stiffened he realized he had gone too far. The Principality could get him in a lot of trouble for being so flippant. But then, he could have already gotten him removed if he’d wanted to. Members of Aziraphale’s station wouldn’t usually give him a second glance, and there they were bickering like equals. He sighed. He was tanking and he knew it. When he spoke again, his tone was resigned. 

“I liked your speech back at the pavillion. It livened up the place. And the sword? Good on you.” Aziraphale turned to look at him, posture softening. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

There was a long pause in which Yrian didn’t know what to do. “Anyway, if you change your mind, you know where to find me,” he said, watching as the group began to move on. He was berating himself for how foolish he must have sounded but when the Principality turned back Yrian could swear he smiled.

*******

Heaven was not filled with surprises, so when Aziraphale reappeared at his studio shortly thereafter, Yrian had few instances to compare it to. He had been elbows-deep in star-stuff and tried to look nonchalant.

“I, er.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I have been assigned to monitor your work.” Yrian couldn’t believe his luck. It had been truly terrifying waiting to see who they would force on him. He could have ended up with some stuffy prat like Uriel who would make his life miserable.

“Wonderful,” he purred, wiping his glittering hands on a discarded apron. He gave Aziraphale his most dashing smile and produced twin balls of white light in his palms. He gave one to Aziraphale and held out his free arm. Aziraphale took it hesitantly and Yrian’s heart soared at the touch. Without a word, they walked out of the courtyard anf down a path to the edge of Nothing.

After a distance they came to rest on an asteroid. Aziraphale had made a good show of seeming disinterested the entire way there and Yrian was charmed by the way he managed to sit primly on a rough space rock.

“Do you really follow all the orders they give you?” Yrian asked, wanting to regain control of the situation when the soldier noticed him staring.

“Of course I do!” Aziraphale said, looking mortified. “I am a _Principality_. An integral part of the Great Plan.” 

“But what about what you want? _Your_ plan? I mean, you didn’t want to come here today.” Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, don’t look so put out, I’m not thick. Don’t you ever just consider telling them to piss off?” 

“I would never,” Aziraphale admonished. Then, shyly, “would you?”

Yrian shrugged. “I generally don’t interact much with anyone to be honest. I keep to myself and tend to my art.” That seemed to relax Aziraphale a bit, but it was clearly not the answer he expected. Yrian tipped his head, intrigued. “What sort of notions do you have about me?” he asked and Aziraphale looked cornered. “It’s ok,” he smirked. “I really do love the rumors. The one where I set fire to Gabriel’s hair wasn’t true, by the way. He must have done it himself, but I was an easy target to pin it on, and it was too funny to deny.” Aziraphale’s face couldn’t decide between looking amused and offended, and Yrian nearly laughed. “Ready?” he asked. The Principality seemed to have given up on talking and nodded, so he snuffed out the lights. 

After a breath, a trail of blue luminescence twisted across the darkness, coalescing in a wave around them. Yrian’s deft fingers made a set of complex sigils, and the atmosphere vibrated with electricity. With a heart-rending burst of energy, the sky split open with ethereal brightness. Multicolored balls of fire quietly blazed into being to whirl around two large center stars. A vibrant fall of sparks dipped and dove, turning their robes pink and yellow and green. Yrian kept his eyes on Aziraphale’s stunned expression, thrilling at every gasp. He traced the cupid’s bow of his lip in his mind, committing it to memory.

“So,” Aziraphale breathed, “is this what you wanted to show me? Before, I mean?”

“It’s still a work in progress of course, but it will be one of my greatest.” He felt color rise to his cheeks and was glad Aziraphale was looking at the sky. “The Lord is calling it Alpha Centauri.” 

“It’s perfect,” Aziraphale said softly, still enthralled. His pale eyes were endless galaxies, and Yrian felt himself coming apart at the sight. He swore to himself that he’d be the architect of entire solar systems if it came to seeing Aziraphale happy.


	2. I Will Possess Your Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I Will Possess Your Heart”-Death Cab For Cutie

They met frequently, talking more freely with every encounter. Aziraphale was such a witty conversationalist that there was rarely a lull in their discussion. Yrian had been ecstatic when the Principality started imagining pictures in his stars. For his part, Aziraphale seemed fascinated whenever Yrian would discuss Heavenly Policy. 

Yrian would have said he didn’t like talking politics (he did actually, if Heaven had a yearbook, Yrian would have been voted Most Likely to Ruin a Party), it was just that it was impossible not to notice Heaven’s shifting tide. There were a great many angels who were less than pleased with the advent of a new race. God’s messages had been increasingly vague when they happened at all, and left much up to angelic interpretation. The Eden Project was controversial, and the fact that there was controversy was controversial. The Higher Ups were becoming more strict in their decrees in order to maintain control, and as a result, relations between the angelic stations were strained.

Even so, Yrian found he trusted Aziraphale, and would speak openly of the many questions he had for the Almighty. He was wary at first, what with Aziraphale outranking him. To his surprise, though, Aziraphale would only fidget nervously until Yrian stumbled upon a point of contention the Principality would admit bothered him as well. 

Aziraphale turned out to be both thoughtful and possessed of a very quirky sense of humor. He was a quick wit, and while his views usually adhered to Policy, he always seemed sincere in his desire to understand opposing viewpoints. If things ever got heated, Aziraphale had an effortless way of diffusing tension that baffled Yrian. The soldier challenged him in a way he had never experienced before, and he hungered for it. And so they spent their time-out-of-time unpacking the universe. With every debate Yrian wondered a little more what Aziraphale’s progress reports to Head Office looked like.

*******

“What will happen when you go to Earth do you think?” Yrian asked him, head propped on a hand, lounging in the glow of a recently-completed swatch of galaxy. The prospect of Heaven without Aziraphale was not appealing in the slightest, but he tried to sound casual. Aziraphale laid next to him, looking up at the new stars. 

“I’m not sure, my dear,” he admitted. “They haven’t told me much other than that I am to be a guardian to the humans and Eden.” 

“Right. A guardian. Against what exactly?” Yrian readjusted to look at Aziraphale directly and the blonde angel cocked his head. 

“Not sure, but it must be important,” he answered, and Yrian pulled a face at the worry in his voice. He couldn’t understand the lack of curiosity. He had, however, learned not to push the matter when Aziraphale used his tone that implied he wouldn’t dare contradict his duties. The soldier chewed his lip and Yrian felt bad for having brought it up.

“Perhaps you’ll be faced with pesky angels who ask too many questions,” he said, giving Aziraphale a sidelong glance. “ _ You _ know the kind,” he glanced around as if sniffing out deception. “Too inquisitive for their own good? Enemies of the Great Plan?” 

Aziraphale gave him a look that said,  _ “like you?” _

Yrian scoffed. “Of course such dissent must be stopped at all costs. Questioning the Highest Authority is simply not permissible.” 

Aziraphale refused to comment, but Yrian could tell he was trying not to smile. 

“Indeed,” Yrian drew himself up pretentiously. “‘To question is to doubt, and doubt has no place in Heaven,’” he quoted. “When you get back you can tell me of all the fiends you thwarted. I’m sure it will be far more exciting than sitting around here.”

“Nothing will be more exciting than this,” Aziraphale replied quietly, eyes firmly fixed on the stars. Yrian stared, running through his mental inventory of Things We Don’t Mention To Aziraphale before deciding,  _ fuck it. _

“Doesn’t it bother you? My history? You know, all the things they say about me. You know half of it’s true,” he said finally. Aziraphale turned to look at him, expression open and trusting.

“No.”

“No? That’s it? Just no.”

“No,” Aziraphale agreed. “Sometimes things are just simple. Let them be simple.”

The smile he gave Yrian was too light, too easy. Yrian wanted to argue because nothing was ever simple, not for someone of his station. He wanted so much from Aziraphale that it hurt, and their moments together felt stolen. They were from different worlds, and soon they would need to go back to their separate duties. Unsure of how to respond, he watched his friend look at the stars. He finally had an answer Lucifer’s question.

*******

The grumbling of discontent was becoming a shout. On one of their outings the pair came across what could only be described as a small mob. They had been debating the usefulness of heavenly fire when they heard the first cries from the square. 

A male-presenting angel in the middle of the rally was making a solid case for how God had forsaken them for Her new human creations. The cheers rang in Yrian’s ears and he remembered why he didn’t get out much.

_It makes sense,_ he conceded. Not that he would ever voice those thoughts to anyone except perhaps Aziraphale. He wasn’t going down that road again. The gears of Heaven were grinding out of tune and he was determined to stay out of it. He felt himself shutting down as angry voices rose around them. 

“Let’s go,” Aziraphale said, and it was obvious he was similarly bothered. Yrian took his hand and led them back to the peace of his courtyard.

***********

To fill the silence, Yrian unloaded his thoughts on the sheer absurdity of the platypus. Aziraphale picked distractedly at the sparkling flecks embedded in the white wall of his studio. 

“I will say the duck bill definitively proves She has a sense of humor, but the egg thing? That really asks you to suspend disbelief,” he said before realizing Aziraphale wasn’t listening. “What is it?” 

“Do you think the Lord will address the rebels?” Aziraphale asked in the sort of offhand way one uses when they are anything but. Yrian had been mixing components for a section of an asteroid belt and stopped.

“What’s there to address?” he asked evenly. “And don’t you think ‘rebels’ is a bit harsh? All they want is some answers.” He doused his hands in grainy matter and flexed his fingers in satisfaction. 

“It just feels different,” Aziraphale sounded concerned. “I know the highest stations are just waiting for Her approval to do something about it.”

Yrian cleaned off his hands and went to stand next to him. Aziraphale still hadn’t been called to Earth, and the two had long since passed any pretense of a Principality overseeing the work of a lesser angel.

“They’re just a lot of talk,” he said, truly believing it. After all, he had a lot of the same views as the “rebels” but it’s not like he would upset the status quo with them. 

Any more than he already had, at least.

Yrian sat down. He didn’t wrap his arms around Aziraphale’s waist or lean in to kiss away the worry on his lips. He didn’t, but he wanted to. The soldier was more complex than he first appeared. A singular juxtaposition of ideals, one moment fervently lauding Heaven and Her Plan and in the next he was almost deviant in his progressive thoughts. Aziraphale looked up at him through fair eyelashes. Their wings folded within inches. 

“I’ll watch out for you,” Yrian promised, not trying to keep the protectiveness out of his voice. Aziraphale searched his face.

“Will you?” 

They were so close, and Yrian’s heart was skipping in his chest. Without thinking, he lifted a hand to touch Aziraphale’s cheek, but stopped when the Principality pulled away. 

“I should get going,” he said and stood. “Paperwork.”

After he left, Yrian tried to find comfort in his painting, but his mind kept wandering back to what might have happened if Aziraphale hadn’t left. He attacked the canvas with his brush in frustration. What would he have even wanted to happen? In answer, his mind rifled through several delightful scenarios that made him immediately forget about his work. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He was so distracted he didn’t notice the swath of graying feathers on the underside of his wing.

*******

Yrian felt the pulse of Heaven become more erratic as The Morning Star’s following grew. Feeling helpless, he immersed himself fully in his shared moments with Aziraphale. There was a new tension between them they didn’t address, which Yrian thought was a symptom of all that was wrong in Heaven. 

He paced his courtyard, caged. His conversations with the Principality made him feel seen, more than Lucifer or anyone else had ever done. Aziraphale treated him as an individual, worth more than just his station. Unfortunately, that was tantamount to blasphemy. It was no secret the Lord was jealous, Aziraphale had to know that as well. 

Aziraphale was no longer Yrian’s supervisor, but they continued to interact as often as they could. Paranoia and suspicion were at an all time high and naturally, people talked. It was improper for angel of Aziraphale’s rank to socialize with a common laborer, especially one with a history like Yrian’s. 

His eyes following the cloudy path to Alpha Centauri. He was used to dirty looks but wondered how his friend was faring. It was nonsense. He shouldn’t need to explain himself to anyone and his relationships shouldn’t be dictated by sanctimonious angels. He should be able to love in the manner of his own choosing. 

He stopped. __

Love.

The feeling was given a name.

_ Well fuck, _ he thought. 

***********

Yrian had been too deep in his own thoughts to see how bad things had gotten. Maybe he was preoccupied with memorizing the dance of Aziraphale’s fingers when he talked, or the way he smiled when Yrian finished a painting. Perhaps Yrian was simply in denial, too afraid to face something he’d seen coming for some time. He had really believed that because he and Aziraphale had theorized so many positive outcomes things wouldn’t come to violence. He was wrong. When the war came, it wasn’t all trumpets and grandiose proclamations of faith. Heaven simply split cleanly down the middle.

Lucifer had organized a rally as he had done many times before, but this time the turnout was monumentous. The Higher Ups decided enough was enough and went to shut it down without waiting for an Official Order. The first balls of fire were thrown and angels Fell, effectively creating Hell and bringing The Morning Star into his complete power. Yrian and Aziraphale had been sitting on their asteroid when they heard the blasts ring out. They hurried back to the studio, but it had been ransacked and the paintings burned. There were angels screaming in agony and vanishing into dust as swords cut through the air to make final contact. Reality caught up slowly to Yrian and he found himself laughing hysterically. He would never know who destroyed his work, as he had enemies on both sides, and this struck him as particularly funny.

An explosion rocked the foundation of the devastated courtyard, throwing Yrian backwards and covering him in debris. He heard a ringing in his ears as Aziraphale lifted him off the ground. 

“ _Yrian_ ,” Aziraphale shook him. “We need to go _._ ” 

He snapped out of his daze and they took shelter behind a collapsed pillar. Fire tore through the clouds and feathers fell around them in a bizarrely delicate dance. Before Yrian could blink Aziraphale’s sword was in his hand. He looked resolute, fierce even.  _ Perhaps he wasn’t such an odd pick for a Guardian of Eden, _ Yrian thought distantly.

A crash sounded above them and he reflexively shielded Aziraphale with his wing. It seemed both sides were happy to destroy everything in their wake. The rebels were a force like Heaven had never seen, and all the fury of the faithful was there to meet them. Fire erupted from the ground. Acrid smoke stung his eyes and clawed at his throat and he realized he couldn’t find Aziraphale. The ringing in his ears intensified to a roar. 

_ Flash-  _ Gabriel, raining fire over already burning bodies.

__ _ Flash-  _ Aziraphale, sword in hand, slashing at an attacker.

__ _ Flash-  _ Yrian running to him and Aziraphale’s sword coming within inches of his face.

In the beat of a breath he slipped around the blade to grasp wildly at Aziraphale’s hand and the two ducked under a fallen arch. They crouched low, Aziraphale panting or sobbing or both. Yrian pulled him close, desperation overpowering caution. When Aziraphale buried his head into his neck, Yrian wrapped his arms around him, shaking his itching wings. He wanted to tell Aziraphale that he would bring Heaven to its knees if it meant keeping him safe, that they would laugh about this later. 

The War still burned, but in their hovel of white brick and mortar, everything was still.  _ She’s abandoned us.  _ Had he become so bitter that confirmation was all he needed? Electricity rocketed through the air as gray feathers fell around them. Everything they knew was being ripped to shreds. Aziraphale’s hand found his and he pressed their palms together. He had finally found something,  _ someone _ worth fighting for and it was all for nothing. He wondered how She could let this happen without a word to stop it. 

He looked down at Aziraphale, his face was white with fear. He was gaping at Yrian’s wings as if he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing, frantically waving his hands. The buzzing in Yrian’s ears kept him from hearing. It didn’t matter. If She wanted a show, She was going to get it. He was done.

Without a word he pulled Aziraphale tightly to him and crushed their lips together, allowing every bit of love and desire to merge with the escalating thrum of battle. It was sheer desperation, a moment of abandon. It was bliss. 

In less than a breath, Yrian decided that his act of rebellion was not only beyond satisfying, but that he wanted to keep kissing Aziraphale until the universe imploded. He smiled against the Principality’s lips as his body turned to dust. He barely felt the shift. All he could see was wide blue eyes and then there was a sudden _ drop _ .


	3. We The Common

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bits that sound paraphrased from the canon most definitely are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “We the Common (for Valarie Bolden)”-Thao & the Get Down Stay Down

Once the bones of his wings crunched back into place, Crawly smiled. They couldn’t take the kiss away from him. Sure, the image of his own arms turning to ash or the cry still lodged in his throat still haunted him of course. He was able to neatly compartmentalize it much of the time. Falling was awful, but it wasn’t as though he could take it back. First time for everything, or something. 

He wandered crowded hallways, the fluorescent lighting glaring off pallid walls, writing letters in his mind.  _ “My dearest Aziraphale _ ,  _ you would not believe the dress code down here- it’s atrocious, and don’t even get me started on the décor.” _

He never concluded them with a  _ “love,” _ or a  _ “sincerely yours,” _ unsure of how to sign. His angelic name had been stripped from him along with Her Love, replaced by sleek black wings and a new tattoo. The agony of it filled his very being with unceasing pain. At least he had passed the initial stage of shock. Messy business really. 

The Morning Star apparently had been hard at work for some time. Hell was a fully formed institution by the point Crawly got there. He was assigned a job at the gate (which was guarded by a pants-shittingly large dog.) His duties as a demon involved finding new and exciting ways to inflict pain on others. It was a dreary pursuit after molding galaxies, but it was better than working for Beelzebub. He shuddered at the thought of the demon Prince. 

Crawly had been a late arrival, pegged as a dirty centrist, and quickly learned that it was best to blend in. From that vantage point he got a read on the place. 

If Heaven was a bore then this was a whole fucking production of mundanity, complete with three-part harmony. Also, to say Hell was ill-managed was an understatement. After all his talk about hating Heaven, Lucifer had successfully created an inverted mirror image of it. In a blatant counterpoint to Heaven’s suffocating starkness, Hell was claustrophobic and oversaturated. Where Heaven was sterile and bright, Hell was all filth and darkness. 

There was still a class system of course, and naturally, Crawly remained a part of the rank-and-file. In an even funnier twist, The Morning Star was about as engaged in oversight as the Lord had been in Heaven. Much of the daily work fell to high ranking demons. He watched each of them closely.

The wall of ticking clocks in his cubicle kept him aware of the dull-knife twist of time. He dragged his pen across a schematic for a pillory and wondered if Aziraphale would recognize him anymore. His formerly dark hair was now a rusty shade of auburn and the pupils of his eyes were black slits. Mentally, he was exhausted, and that had to show as well. He shook his head to clear it. It was no good to dwell.

*******

Lust cut an exciting silhouette standing in his doorway. Curly chestnut hair kissed her cheek to cascade over soft shoulders, and her delicate collar bone featured a constellation of moles leading pointedly downwards. He looked her in the eye.

The dim green lighting that permeated his cubicle fell in fits and bursts, turning her robe to a rich oxblood. Crawly had stopped pacing when she appeared and found himself standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. He tried for his most disaffected stare. While he may have been glad for the interruption, he wasn’t about to think a Vice looking for him was a good thing. 

“Crawly,” his name melted in her mouth. “I hear you’re over it here. Looking for a change of scenery?”

His brow arched involuntarily, remembering the time he had said much the same to Aziraphale. 

“Well sure. Didn’t know I had a choice.” 

He started to walk back to his desk but it was like his legs were weighted down at the ankles. Lust’s smile deepened. She crossed the room to where he stood and ran a single, manicured fingernail from his neck to his navel. 

“Oh, there’s always a choice, pet. What would you be willing to do, if I could offer you an out?” Her fingers traced small circles over the jut of his hips, slowly moving lower. He brushed her away.

“M’fine, thanks.” He felt a rush of sensation return to his legs as she fixed her eyes on him.

“What if I told you that you could see Aziraphale again?” she whispered and Crawly felt the shock register on his face before he could attempt to cover it. It was jarring to hear a name he’d only thought since arriving in Hell.  _ How long had it been anyway? _

“Oh, come now darling, no need to be bashful. We’ve all heard about your beau back in Heaven. I can get him back to you.”

“Leave him out of this,” he snapped.

“Shhh, honey,” Lust coaxed and stepped in closer. He breathed her in, the familiar scent of drying ink and holy fire causing his senses to run together in a deluge of want. She smelled like Aziraphale.

“I’m here to do you a favor,” her voice slipped quietly into his mind. “The other Vices and I have our sights set on the Principality and I figured why not let you have a go. If you don’t want to cooperate, I can send someone else. Someone who may not have his best interests in mind.” 

He wasn’t so far gone to realize she wasn’t bluffing. Vices didn’t need to bluff.

And so, reluctantly, Crawly listened.

*******

_ The Dawn of Time, Eden _

Crawly’s love affair with Earth began at first kiss. The breath he took after wriggling his way through fertile soil was exhilarating. Unpredictable and free, the new world was a rush after the halls of Hell. His serpent’s tongue could literally taste the potential. Eden was perfection by design, and the flood of human emotion marking the place flowed into him like an elixir. The preternatural need to interact with them was undeniable, but his personal curiosity had to be satiated first. So, he waited, giving the side-eye to the other snakes while sunning himself on a rock. 

He spent hours considering how Aziraphale may have changed just as he had. He knew the terms of damnation dictated that Aziraphale wouldn’t remember him, so what was he supposed to do? Surely it wouldn’t be as easy as just reminding him of their time together. Maybe Aziraphale wasn’t even actually there. Lust could have easily lied to him, and he mentally kicked himself for being so gullible. 

He really appreciated all of the plants in Eden, they brought a lot to the space. The animals seemed to know to keep a good distance, which was fine by him. He didn’t want to meet a stupid platypus anyway. He watched the humans critically, and finally decided he didn’t see what all the fuss was about. The apple tree in the middle of the Garden was by far the most interesting thing there. It almost felt like a nod to the Rebellion, and he decided he never really would understand Her.

It was while he was coiled around the base of the tree that Aziraphale appeared. He looked resplendent, wings outstretched in the sunlight, sword apparently forgotten. Crawly was grateful he was a snake so the Principality wouldn’t hear his breath hitch. The angel talked to the plants and animals, a sweetness to his voice that made Crawly’s heart swell. As he watched Aziraphale encourage a fern to unfurl itself he wondered how he was ever going to start up a conversation. Somehow,  _ “excuse me, your memories were tossed out like garbage but just so you know, I’m still in love with you and also I’m a demon now,” _ seemed less than ideal. He needed a reason to interact. A conversation to jog Aziraphale’s memory.

Which is when he noticed Eve. Crawly had no idea what would happen if he convinced her to eat an apple, but it couldn’t be  _ that _ bad. And after all, he and Aziraphale shared the value of personal choice. If he just shook things up a bit in the Garden, it would at least give him a talking point to gauge Aziraphale’s headspace on rebellion and independence. Plus, his demonic nature was making him increasingly impatient for some sort of action. Worst case scenario, the angel would see him as a troublemaker, and with a flick of his sword, send him back to Hell. Or they could talk about it and he would remember. Regardless, it would be an interesting experiment, and he had to start somewhere.

***********

Aziraphale watched over the Eastern Gate, ever the dutiful soldier. He ventured into the Garden on occasion, enjoying how the breeze made the leaves on the trees rattle. The place was truly a wonder and figured he was allowed to indulge in it at least a little bit. Things were going splendidly, after all. There was a new flower in the garden every day and he had recently discovered the hedgehog which was just a delight.

He was alarmed when the human, Adam, gave him the news of the apple. With a glance at a very pregnant Eve, Aziraphale didn’t give much thought to handing over his sword. After all, they would likely need it more than he would. It wasn’t until after the fact that he began to Worry. He frequently made an entire production of Worrying, and was really just getting into the meat and potatoes of the event when the Serpent found him. 

“Well that went down like a lead balloon,” the demon said benignly. 

Aziraphale was acutely aware he should be challenging the hellion to a duel or perhaps raining heavenly fury down upon him. Instead he just stared and blurted something that was probably a question.

“I said that went down like a lead balloon,” the demon repeated. 

There was something about his demeanor that felt like an itch Aziraphale couldn’t scratch. It was disarming, but he wasn’t sure what could be done about it. It wasn’t like he could have smited the creature even if he’d wanted to.  _ Smited. Smote? Smitten? No that definitely wasn’t it. _

Maybe the sense of familiarity he was experiencing was a part of the nature of demons. A way to ingratiate themselves into the minds of unsuspecting victims. Having had no previous experience with them, it seemed possible. He willed his stress-addled brain to recall his seminars.  _ He’s making me feel comfortable so he can trap me with his wiles, _ he thought.  _ Yes. Luring me in before... something, something, fire and brimstone. _

The thing was, he was sure nobody ever mentioned demons seeming …inquisitive. The creature at his side didn’t seem to want to fly into a hellish rage at any rate. _Perhaps he’s also having a bad day,_ Aziraphale thought, feeling suddenly sympathetic. Golden eyes continued to watch him. The agent of Hell looked as if he wanted to say something other than:

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword? You did. I saw it. It was flaming like anything.” His red hair caught the wind and flew about him like the fringe of an exotic bird and Aziraphale felt himself blushing. The Serpent looked tickled as he explained the situation with the apple and Eve. Thoroughly embarrassed now, Aziraphale wondered why he couldn’t stop talking. He watched the snakelike eyes widen as he blustered on, the unnerving look intensifying when he got to the bit about the sword.

“Funny thing is,” the demon tittered, “I keep wondering whether the apple thing wasn’t the right thing to do, as well. A demon can get into real trouble, doing the right thing.” 

_ Perhaps I am a bit lonely, _ Aziraphale conceded as he muddled his way through the rest of the conversation. When the rains came, he extended a wing and was pleased when the demon- Crawly sidled underneath it. He didn’t miss the look of shock in his honey colored eyes. They stood like that for some time, and the strangest part of the situation was that it didn’t feel strange at all.

“What happens next do you think?” Crawly asked, all humor gone as they looked out to where the humans had wandered off.

“I wish I knew,” Aziraphale replied. 


	4. Evil Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Evil Thoughts”- Foxy Shazam

Crawly knew why he Fell, thank you very much. For all his alleged “flaws” he wasn’t stupid. Angels were duty-bound to love in a sort of universal way, tepid and safe, not meant to single out an object of affection. Doing so would cloud their love of God. Too close to covetousness or, Satan spare us, _lust_. And sure, his litany of questions probably didn’t help his case. So saunter vaguely downwards he did, Divine Forgiveness be damned. Black suited him better anyway.

“Get up there and make some trouble,” Lust had said, and he intended to. The other part of the agreement… well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. He just hoped he could jog Aziraphale’s memory before it came to something he couldn’t undo. Not that the angel was intent on making any of it easy.

Crawly’s week had been trying, and he really didn’t love the idea of making an enemy out of his best friend. So when they met again in the Garden, he thought it pertinent to be gentle when he pointed out that the humans had left. Also the Wall had been breached. By _him_. And shortly thereafter the other guardians took off without so much as a goodbye. In his response, Aziraphale had sounded exactly like archangel Michael:

“You cannot sway me from my duty. I will await my orders, as instructed. And nothing you can say will change my mind.”

 _So he has bad taste in authority figures as well,_ Crawly thought, _Not a surprise._

He wished that he could laugh at the whole situation. He might have, if the distance in Aziraphale’s eyes had been a little less.

“Keep an eye out for evil fiends for me then,” he said instead, trying to smile at his own joke

*******

The days ticked by looking much the same. Aziraphale made his solitary rounds. trying not to dwell on the demon’s parting words about how Heaven had... _misplaced_ him. Unfortunately, the more time passed the truer it rang. He hadn’t tried to reach out to Head Office. After the whole flaming sword fiasco, he figured keeping a low profile would likely be to his benefit. 

He sat in the Garden under the (smug looking) apple tree. He didn’t miss Crawly, he was sure of that. The demon was ...enigmatic. Which was not a complement. He was obviously unstable, ricocheting between cocky and distant. It was as if he didn’t know who was from moment to moment. It was disarming And he was a blasphemer. Really, he was the whole reason for this mess in the first place.

He kicked at the soft grass. He could have had a pleasant eternity doing…whatever he was meant to be doing if the Serpent hadn’t upended everything. Aziraphale’s view of demons was that they were unfortunate victims of their own personal weaknesses. This was a working theory, having only met one to date. He frequently wondered if all demons were like Crawly. Just thinking of the directness of his questions made something hum inside of him. _No,_ he was better off without the distraction. 

Then, one night, the distraction showed up again.

“Hullo angel!” Crawly waved brightly when he made it to the Wall. He flashed a grin filled with too-sharp white teeth and Aziraphale fought the urge to return it. It had been dreary there all by himself and any diversion was a welcome change. Even if it came in the form of an operative of Hell. 

He genuinely believed once Crawly had left that would be the last he’d see of him. Now that he was back, well, it _would_ give him something to do. He watched with growing interest as the black snake deftly scaled the wall and shifted back to a lithe humanoid form. 

Crawly immediately began pulling things out of his cloak and placing them purposefully in front of Aziraphale. When he was done, he looked up, arms swept wide like he had just won an argument.

Aziraphale stared. “What is all this?” 

Crawly looked down at his offerings with a small frown. There was an earthenware vessel, a crude stone blade, a pair of rocks, and a small pile of sticks. 

The demon knelt, “hold on.” 

He picked up the sticks and placed them in the bowl, striking the rocks together over the pot and blessing as he nicked a knuckle on the first try. Aziraphale watched blankly as he held up a finger in a way that said, _be patient._ Crawly knocked the rocks together again, creating a small spark. He made a triumphant sound and blew gently over the sticks until they began to smolder. Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he watched the flames flicker cheerfully in the pot. 

Crawly beamed like a proud parent. “Look at what the humans have made! They’ve tamed fire! They heat things on it to make them edible. They’ve even taken your sword design and created blades of their own. They use them to cut apart food and chop wood and all sorts of things. They made other tools, as well. They really are amazing.” 

Aziraphale was stunned. Humans had done all this and in such a short time? He wondered what else they had gotten up to.

“And so, you see,” Crawly’s hands were moving enthusiastically now, “you don’t need to stay here and punish yourself over the thing with the sword. They took what you gave them and ran with it in the most entertaining ways. You did them a favor, really. You must come see,” he finished with a wave in the direction of the horizon.

Aziraphale felt his resolve falter. Despite his better nature, the little fire was fascinating, and Crawly’s stare was hypnotic in the moonlight. He forced himself to think of the oath he had sworn to protect the Eastern Wall and the mistakes he had already made. He stood up straighter, expression hard. The demon shrugged dismissively.

“I’ve been getting to know them well, the humans” Crawly said coolly as a chill wind whipped past them. The fire crackled and Aziraphale shivered at the change in air pressure. The light from the bowl cast shadows on the angular face of his nemesis, and Aziraphale realized all the stars had been suddenly obscured by clouds. The demon’s sleek wings hovered above them, a void against the suddenly empty sky. Otherworldly eyes glowed as Crawly’s forked tongue flicked out to taste the air. 

“I steer clear of the ones that would recognize me, of course, but the others are so very willing to listen to my…advice. Would be a pity if their only influence was from a demon. Who knows what sort of seeds of chaos and anarchy I could sow? Unchecked I could run the whole civilization into the ground.” 

Aziraphale paled. “You wouldn’t. They’re just starting out!”

Crawly sneered. “You have no idea what I’m prepared to do. Have a good night, _angel_.” 

And, with that, he left Aziraphale with his thoughts and the little trinkets of humanity.

*******

Aziraphale’s solitude had officially come to an end. The day after the demon left, the archangel Gabriel finally decided to pay him a visit. The meeting was going over like, what had Crawly said...a lead balloon? 

“Good on you for standing up to the wiles of Hell,” Gabriel said genially after clapping him on the back so hard it made him cough. Aziraphale may have exaggerated certain aspects of his time on Earth…to some degree. He definitely glossed over the part about the sword.

“Of course, we will be happy to have you back in the ranks of Heaven,” Gabriel chuckled, ingratiating smile plastered to his face. “So sorry about the mix-up. We really did mean to get in touch with you. Things have been so hectic of late, and memos just get lost in the shuffle, you know how it goes.” He was seriously going to dismiss not telling Aziraphale about the recall. Crawly had been right.

“About that,” Aziraphale began, choosing his words carefully, “I’ve been thinking. The demon, clever creature that he is, has already gotten his claws into the humans and I thought, who better to thwart such designs than myself?” Gabriel laughed as if he were being terribly sly. 

“Ambitious! I like it! But really, you’re entitled to a nice cushy desk job after this whole debacle. The benefits are good and you’ll have free reign to dictate what your duties look like.” 

Aziraphale pictured himself sitting at a pristine desk, white walls surrounding him, shuffling papers for eternity. He would put post-it notes in his calendar to remind him to go make small talk at company parties. The greatest mystery in his life would be who misfiled a report on potential bottlenecks to the latest project. It was terrifying. He couldn’t stop the face he made, but it wasn’t as if Gabriel was paying attention. 

“The offer is very kind,” he rushed ahead, “but I really do feel like my place is here on Earth. After all, I saw it off and I do feel somewhat responsible for the humans, guileless as they are. As I said, the Serpent still threatens their civilization. Unchecked, he could sow the seeds of anarchy,” he groaned internally when he realized he was quoting Crawly, but kept going. “They are expanding quickly. They make tools, and they have fire. The demon is still afoot trying to tempt them and-” Gabriel cut him off with another laugh.

“Oh, Aziraphale, you _slay_ me. If you feel so strongly about it, of course you can stay! You’ve put in the time. Go keep an eye on this demon of yours. But I’m telling you now, if you’re looking to score some extra points in Her books you’ve got another thing coming. She doesn’t play favorites. And don’t say I never did anything for you!” He gave a conspiratorial wink and slapped him on the back again. Aziraphale really wished he would stop doing that. 

When Gabriel finally left, Aziraphale sat down to process things. He was no warrior, that much was obvious to anyone with eyes. He had been selected by the Lord, quite obviously at random, for the task of guarding Eden. Once he had been assured it wasn’t a clerical error, he had done his best to live up to his new title. He had made some missteps along the way, to be sure. But then, he didn’t know what was at stake. Now though, he needed to get serious. The course of humanity depended on him. 


	5. Feels Like We Only Go Backwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Feels Like We Only Go Backwards”-Tame Impala

_Egypt, 2494 B.C._

He was grateful the Principality had finally stopped discorporating him. Perhaps he had laid on the whole “infernal adversary trying to corrupt humankind” thing a little thick, but how was he to know it would earn him a fucking arch nemesis? He just wanted to get Aziraphale away from that bloody Wall. The angel likely thought himself the master marksman with how frequently he killed Crawly off.

Crawly, for his part, learned that trying to fight for your life while _not_ destroying your opponent was harder than it sounds. Maybe was a weird thing to be proud of, but he did get rather good at pulling punches. Point of fact, Aziraphale had only made the walk back to Head Office to get a new corporation once as far as he was aware. The angel’s discorporation hadn’t even been his fault (but it did make for a great story involving a donkey, exactly three figs, and a very puzzled pitcher of water.) 

The turning point came when he had saved Aziraphale from a gaggle of misguided and extremely angry villagers. After he had gotten the angel away from what was to be a funeral pyre, the pair had made a hasty exit to an unoccupied alley. They transported themselves to a barren field just outside of town and Crawly rounded on him immediately.

“What were you thinking? You know that lot is superstitious! They could have discorporated you!” He was livid. He bent over backwards to be civil, and if Aziraphale was going to keep performing obvious miracles he would never get a day of rest.

“What was I supposed to do? Let that little girl suffer?” Aziraphale snapped back, sounding so forlorn that Crawly forgot his entire tirade. They collapsed, sitting back to back in the dirt.

“I know, angel,” he mumbled, exhausted. “I don’t blame you. You did the right thing. She was too young to die. Please, just be careful next time.” 

There was a pause in which Aziraphale turned to stare as if seeing him for the first time. His expression made Crawly feel like he was stepping into a hot bath: sharp at first, then followed by a soothing sort of ache. He had seen that look from the angel before, but not on Earth. After that, something shifted between them and they when their paths crossed they began talking. By the time they got to Egypt, Crawly thought things were going well. 

Since he was counting his blessings (curses?) he was also glad for the advent of alcohol.

“No, what I’m saying is it’s _made_ out of barley, but the taste is altogether different,” he explained for the third time.

The day had seen them walking along the Nile, watching the plants and animals retire as the sun set. After dark they debated the merits of different burial techniques. Because it was Egypt, the conversation naturally led to architecture, and they ended up in front of the recently-completed Sphinx, limestone shining in the moonlight. They sat on an expansive rug, a bowl of figs between them.

On a whim, he had convinced Aziraphale to try eating roughly fifty years prior. He had said something along the lines of “understanding humanity through immersion,” (or equivalent bullshit,) then sat back to watch the gears turn. He just liked seeing the angel’s halo slip a little. What he didn’t expect was for him to take to the habit with a zeal akin to gluttony. If Crawly’s starlight performances in Heaven had been a source of entertainment, food was pure, unadulterated joy. Obviously, Crawly made a habit of presenting his enemy with every delicacy he could get his hands on. In this particular moment, he was attempting to sell the esteemed Principality on the many virtues of beer. 

Aziraphale took a hesitant sip and made a face of displeasure. Crawly groaned and reached to take the cup only to have his hand swatted away. The soldier took another drink, considered a moment, then decided on a third. 

“You surpass me in the decadence department, angel,” Crawly said, impressed. Aziraphale looked at the cup, an appreciative smile on his face.

“I am simply being objective, my dear. It is imperative to my continued duties that I understand even the most basic of human indulgences.” 

Crawly’s lips quirked, undecided on an expression. On the one hand, it was his own paraphrased words back at him, which told him the angel was paying attention. However, it was also a reminder that they were not, and never would be, human. They were an angel and a demon and neither of them could afford to distance themselves too far from their respective duties.

“I made a few modifications to some hieroglyphs today,” he mentioned, a casual attempt at not giving in to existential dread. “I figure my creative additions should be enough to start a war. Or at least a good row at some royal family’s dinner table.”

The conversation meandered as they continued to drink. From Crawly’s influence on contemporary art, the topics turned to more pressing issues. Like whether aardvarks had a good sense of smell (and if so, what ants smell like.) By the time Crawly got to the story about planting “dinosaur bones” around the Earth, Aziraphale was doubled over in a fit of giggles. He hadn’t laughed like that since the Flood. Crawly could easily reach over and- _no_. He had already royally cocked that one up. The odds of him resolving anything in a way that didn’t explode in his face seemed smaller with every passing day. He was going to need to switch tactics and soon. Til then it was best to be happy with what he could get. 

Aziraphale hiccupped and it brought him back to Earth. “You know, the names of the constellations are different here.” 

Crawly’s breath caught. 

“Different from what?” He asked and the angel’s nose crinkled, intoxicated mind puzzling out exactly what he meant. 

“I’m not sure. Just, I think this one rather looks like a lion or a gryphon and the one over there looks like an archer. The Egyptians seem to see it all differently. Not sure why I think I have a better idea then they do, I suppose,” he said, looking vaguely confused at his own words.

He knew to try to explain to Aziraphale that he had named those stars in Heaven would result in a lot of tongue tying or worse. When he had attempted similar things in the past, a soul-snatching current raced through him and sucked the air from his lungs. Even innocuous mention of certain words could be dangerous. Recently, he had used the term “rebellion” in conversation with Aziraphale in the middle of a crowded marketplace. The scene that he made when his insides began to collapse was not one he’d easily forget. He had a theory that if he pressed the matter further, he would discorporate entirely. 

But he was sure nobody said anything about what would happen if Aziraphale just remembered on his own.

“Tell me what else you see.” 

Aziraphale gave him a serious look like he was trying to gauge whether he was being teased. His expression was broken with another hiccup. Crawly patiently met his eyes, and Aziraphale finally gave a little wiggle at the prospect of explaining. 

“Well, that one is a scorpion and there is a chariot, and over here is a tree. Maybe even an _apple tree,_ ” he pointed at the shapes Crawly had committed to memory. Aziraphale turned his head and he was startled to realize how close they had gotten. 

“Why’d you do it anyway?” the angel asked, his usually crisp diction softened by the beer. “Y’know with Eve and the apple?” 

Crawly considered, unsure of what he could get away with saying. 

“Well, I guess I just figured people have the right to choose their own path. I gave them an opportunity and they took it.” 

“Hmph,” Aziraphale’s eyes went back to the sky. “Choice. It’s such a human attribute. Can you imagine what it would be like to have that luxury?” 

Crawly bit his forked tongue. This line of thinking was dangerous for an angel. It was also very much the conversation he’d wanted to have back in Eden. His best laid plans to have this talk had been dashed so many times and all it took was getting Aziraphale a little drunk?

He was about to make a remark he’d likely regret, when the angel’s head rested on his shoulder and all coherent thought left his head. As far as Aziraphale knew they had never touched outside of battle. The soldier was still looking up at the stars as if this was the most natural thing in the world. His curls were soft against his neck. He smelled like Heaven, which pulled at something deep in Crawly’s core. But there was something else too, something like grass after the rain. Aziraphale had been marked by life on Earth just as he had.

How the angel couldn’t hear Crawly’s heartbeat reeling was a mystery. They sat like that for some time, Crawly’s mind reeling as the stars glowed brighter. Too soon, Aziraphale made a small, contented sound and shifted away.

“Guess I should head home,” he wobbled as he stood.

“Sure, angel,” Crawly said, feeling the loss of their touch like a punch to the gut. Who knew if that would be their last. “I’ll walk you. I don’t want you to miracle yourself into the Nile by accident.” 

***********

The door closed and he leaned against the mud-brick wall outside Aziraphale’s house.

“Well done,” Lust lilted from the shadows.

“Ngk,” Crawly said automatically, beginning a sullen walk…where? Where was he thinking he might go to be rid of everything for a moment? She laughed, a gossamer sound that somehow made him feel worse. 

“Come now, love. No need to pout. Tonight went very well from the look of it.”

She was suddenly behind him and he froze, whether by his own volition or hers he wasn’t sure. Her clever fingers ran circles across his back.

“He’s not having it at all actually,” he said, gathering his wits and pulling away. “So you can just head home because this isn’t going to work. He’ll never go for a demon.” 

“Oh, cheer up,” Lust purled, her fingers going to his shoulder where Aziraphale’s head had just been resting. “It’s already begun. At the end of this, the two of you can be together in Hell and I’ll have an angelic feather in my wing. All you have to do is get him away from all that uptight dogma. Shouldn’t be too hard. I see the side you bring out in him, _my dear._ ” 

*******

_Rome, 41 A.D._

Despite the black glasses, Aziraphale thought Crawly seemed quite natural among the humans, drink swilling in his hand. He had privately started to look forward to their meetings, and was glad when his rival wanted company. He knew from his training that the demon was ruled by base urges and not to be trusted. But he’d also saved Aziraphale on several occasions (likely just to prevent another angel from taking his place and killing the demon off, but still.) 

There had been stranger starts to a friendship, surely.

They made their way to a table and ordered oysters and, of course, more drinks. Aziraphale added a squeeze of lemon and a dollop of pungent sauce to one of the oysters. He handed it reverently to Crawly, who looked skeptical. The demon watched as Aziraphale prepared himself an oyster and held it up in a toast. He tipped the oyster shell to his lips and Crawly crooked a brow before following suit. 

He watched with interest as the demon considered the new taste. Aziraphale had to smile. The company of people was fine and all but there was something comforting about being around someone he’d known since the literal dawn of time. Even if it did come with all the built-in boundaries of their respective professions. He must have been staring because Crawly gave him a sharp look and Aziraphale blinked. 

“What do you think?”

“Sssalty,” Crawly said, a hiss creeping into his voice. He coughed a bit to cover it and Azirapahle pretended not to notice. “I like it,” he continued, almost thoughtful. “It reminds me of the day we spent on the seaside in Eastern Thrace.” 

“The Euxine Sea isn’t even that salty,” Aziraphale teased, and Crawly’s tongue flicked in annoyance.

“You weren’t the one who got a mouthful of water,” he growled and Aziraphale covered his smile behind his napkin. He had coaxed the demon into the waves only for him to slip almost immediately. Aziraphale caught him, but he couldn’t save Crawly from himself. The demon had pulled away, startled, then slipped again and went under. Aziraphale had laughed sympathetically as he brought the sodden and cranky demon to shore and dried him off. 

“What brings you to Rome, angel?” Crawly asked, obviously over the topic of Thrace.

“Well,” Aziraphale started, happy to talk shop _._ “I’m here to talk a senator into taking on several equities that will, hopefully, steer him in the direction of making some very large systemic changes.” He helped himself to another oyster, having waited what he felt was an appropriate amount of time with Crawly not reaching for the bowl. “What about you?” 

The demon sipped his drink to cover pursed lips. “Oh, just the usual securing of souls for eternal damnation… likely working the same bloke as you in fact.” 

Aziraphale grimaced. He hated how their jobs overlapped as often as they did. Made a right mess of the whole experience knowing that even if he did his best there was a force actively working to undermine him. He took another oyster. Well, at least the food was good.

“Did you know oysters are considered an aphrodisiac?” He asked conversationally, and Crawly spat his drink back into his cup.

“I know!” Aziraphale chuckled. “Humans come up with the most curious connotations for everything, don’t they?” Crawly made an unintelligible sound, polished off his drink and immediately ordered another.


	6. Big Dark Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T/W for some pseudo-non-con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Big Dark Love”-Murder By Death

_537 A.D., Kingdom of West Essex_

Crowley tried to keep his distance after Rome. He figured he could allay his guilt by staying away from the angel when possible. Every time it seemed like Aziraphale was remembering their time in Heaven, it always fell short of true recognition. That didn’t mean he stopped coming up with different tactics, he just stayed away until he thought of something new to try. 

The more he prodded, though, the more disturbed he became. Not only did Aziraphale not remember him, he didn’t remember much of the rebellion or the War at all. Large areas of his mind had been wiped clean. _A perfectly pliant agent of Heaven,_ he thought with the same simmering rage as the day he Fell. She really did abandon Her children.

Lust kept him occupied in the meantime. With her guidance, he learned how to read people, and found he was naturally good at responding to them. At her urging, he incited intrigue, winding his way through tangled trysts and jealous lovers. He figured that ending up in a strange bed was better than some of the other jobs he might have. 

The Principality was likely off saving orphans from burning buildings or something. Meanwhile, he had spent the last week traipsing across the damp countryside in heavy armor, miserable in the cold. Staring at his reflection in the small mirror of his tent, he willed impassivity into his expression. He was the Black Knight, Scourge of West Essex. It was always easier when he had a character to play. 

His latest marching orders were to sleep with a knight who was to become king. The scandal it would cause when they were discovered would lead the knight to a life of excess, effectively changing the course of history and damning his soul to Hell. Basic job, on paper at least. 

Sir Ailwin, his target, had been heading up a neighboring camp. Crowley had arranged a parley three days prior to introduce himself. Sir Ailwin had dominated the conversation, proving to be both cruel to his subordinates and extremely dull besides. Basically, he was insufferable and Crowley hated him instantly. He wondered if he wasn’t actually working against Hell by sabotaging the jackass. 

They met a few times, and it was clear that Ailwin wanted him. He obviously preferred the silent type, as Crowley didn’t trust himself to talk in the man’s presence. 

It was only a matter of time before this whole nauseating mess was over, but that was cold comfort. In their most recent encounter, the knight had gotten handsy and had taken it as an invitation when Crowley came close to punching his teeth in. Still fuming, Crowley was caught wholly off balance when he ran into Aziraphale. 

Their interaction was brief, partially because Crowley couldn’t seem to get his wits about him. They exchanged words and he went back to camp, feeling spent. He had spent too much time foolishly holding onto the hope that the angel would just remember who he was of his own accord. As it stood, Aziraphale didn’t even seem to value their friendship, calling him “Crawly” even after all the time they’d spent together. The name change had been a giant fuck you to Hell, a move to reclaim the little bit of power he still had and Crowley was proud of it.

He needed space to think. If he could arrange an agreement in which he and Aziraphale each took on a share of the work, they could continue to stay away from one another. Lust would have nothing incriminating to point to in their meetings. No angel, no temptation. Aziraphale would be safer and he could come up with a new plan. Resolved, he drank the dregs out of his wineskin and set out to find the white knight.

*******

The Principality’s tent was an immaculate, glowing fixture. A discerning shade of cream untouched by the elements, it was decorated with little blue banners that flapped in an ethereal breeze. The thing was positively cheerful, shining holy light over the drab encampment. Crowley rolled his eyes at the vain, fussy, flamboyant, beautiful, kind… he swallowed. _Yeah,_ he thought, _this is going to go great._

*******

The demon stood in the fog outside his tent and Aziraphale was instantly concerned. He had missed Crawly- _no...Crowley_ now. It was just that the last interaction they had before that day had been fairly uncomfortable. They had been at a tavern and he had been part-way through a slice of pie when the demon had asked him to strike a bargain. The plan would invariably make it so the two of them didn’t need to cross paths anymore. Aziraphale had panicked, shoveling the last few bites into his mouth to give himself time to think. 

On its face it seemed like a good idea. The less he saw of Crowley the less the demon could interfere in his work. Besides, he really could use a break. The amount of miracles Heaven had been piling on lately had been exhausting. But this was a literal deal with the devil. Who knew what Heaven would do if they found out? Such things were simply not acceptable, especially for a former Guardian of Eden. 

_Crowley must be tired of seeing me,_ he realized, feeling an unanticipated pang of sadness. Aziraphale had grown to look forward to their outings, always coming away from them feeling as if he had learned something about the world. He had but hoped the distance that had grown between them was a passing phase. He had rejected the plan, and Crowley had left the tavern in a hurry. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said curtly.

The lack of his usual pet-name didn’t escape notice. Aziraphale offered the demon a chair and he sat, back uncharacteristically straight. He was still a mystery in many ways, but his posture was a clear sign.

“What are you here about my dear?” He poured some wine and set two goblets down. Crowley who didn’t make a move to touch his. 

“I want to revisit the terms of our agreement.” 

His tone was clipped, and Aziraphale could hear exhaustion behind it. He reminded himself that anything vexing the demon must be good, right? Swallowing a sigh and putting on his most angelic voice, he met Crowley with the level gaze of a Heavenly Principality. If this was really what the demon wanted, fine, but he didn’t need to do it with a smile.

“We never came to any terms, nor did we come to an agreement,” he sipped his wine, his inflection formal to a degree that pushed the limits of politeness. Crowley started to say something but Aziraphale cut him off with a raise of his hand. “I’d be happy to talk now, however.”

The look that flashed across the demon’s face was unreadable. “Good,” he said finally. And so, they drew up a contract and Aziraphale went to bed trying to convince himself he’d done the right thing.

*******

_Japan, 1052 A.D._

With the Arrangement in place, Crowley did indeed see less of Aziraphale. He gave the angel his more mundane curses, keeping the seductions for himself, nauseated at the thought of Aziraphale in someone else’s arms. It was a challenge to stay away while remaining on Lust’s good side, but he reminded himself he was just buying time. Of course, Lust made sure to put him in proximity to Aziraphale whenever she came to check in, and he continued to tell her everything was on track. 

When he was with Aziraphale he was all business. He tried not to notice the hurt that would flit across the angel’s face when he would cut their time short, consistently surprised Aziraphale even wanted him around. He was wrung out and irritable, and despite his attempts to hide it, he knew the Principality noticed. The nights of parties and bedrooms and unfamiliar hands on his body were becoming increasingly hard to manage, and his frustration was beginning to show.

Lust took him at his word that things were going smoothly, until he failed three missions in quick succession. She informed him she’d be coming around more often, reminding him in no uncertain terms that he could be replaced. The thought of her sending Hastur or Ligur after Aziraphale was terrifying, so he tried not to think about it. Apparently redoubling her efforts, she sent Crowley to Japan looking for an blue-eyed scribe who had been instructing writers in the capital city of Heian-kyō. 

*******

It was fitting that he would find the angel in the large garden that was the pride of the city, exquisitely manicured shrubs blooming in the spring air. 

“How have you been? I've been wondering where you’d gotten off to,” Aziraphale’s voice was gentle as they strolled over a footbridge crossing a small stream. Crowley felt a surge of love but covered it with a shrug. He wanted so badly to help Aziraphale’s mind rebuild, to talk to him openly, to explain. 

“Fine,” he lied, sounding more terse than he had meant to. 

Lust had given him explicit instructions to get back in the angel’s good graces. His eagerness to be close warred with the fear of what that could lead to. 

“Was wondering if you needed anything in regards to the Arrangement. Any, you know, pointers,” Crowley said. It was a weak line. He hadn’t shown any interest in how the Arrangement was actually working out in over 500 years. Aziraphale looked as though he were trying to make sense of him. There was no way this was going to work.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said slowly, and Crawly tried not to look stunned. “I think perhaps talking over some finer points might benefit me. Say, over dinner? I know a delightful little spot not too far from here.” 

_Shit, angel,_ he thought. _Just run. Run far away._

“Dinner would be wonderful,” he heard himself say dully.

*******

Things were relatively calm until the Black Death cut a swath through Eurasia a few hundred years later. Crowley, in full plague doctor attire, tried to ease the suffering of its victims as best he could. Even children weren’t spared Her cruelty. The smell of disease and rot was inescapable, and the scent of the floral sachets worn to ward it off made his stomach turn. He wasn’t allowed to interfere with Death, but he could weave pleasant visions in the minds of the dying and offer other little comforts. That and scare off any rats he came across.

Lust was unmoved by the fact that the _Fucking Plague_ was the least likely stage for seduction imaginable. She pointed out that people become desperate for distraction when their world is being destroyed. He learned the truth of that statement firsthand, watching helplessly as many of his targets succumbed to illness.

He came upon Aziraphale ministering to the sick and dying in Prague. As soon as he removed his mask, the angel drew him into a fierce hug. Crowley was shocked almost to discorporation. Nerves suddenly alight and a sob rising in his throat, all he could do was let himself be held. It was wonderful to feel the embrace of someone who actually knew him and wanted closeness anyway. When the moment ended and loss crept back in, he realized what he needed to do. That night he sank into bed feeling hopeless, not bothering to fight the fatigue.

_He was being watched- no dissected. Picked apart piece by piece and put back together again. The sensation burrowed just under the surface of his skin, filling his body with the pinpricks of a sleeping limb. He roamed limitless spaces, white on all sides. There were eyes all around. Blank and staring, they multiplied and spread like wings, unbound by logic, looking straight through him._

He woke gasping, twisted in sweat-soaked sheets, glad he was alone.

*******

_Paris, France, 1358 A.D._

The candlelit sconces flickered as he finished his glass of freshly refilled wine in two decisive gulps. He lazed on the walnut settee, arms wrapped around the impossibly curvaceous waists of two beautiful women. Not that Crowley was at the leisure of choosing, of course. Not that he cared. The blue-eyed woman on his right arm was a wonderfully witty painter with an adorable lisp and impressive ambition. The blonde to his left had a sharp tongue and was sporting some cleverly hidden bruises from an abusive father. Crowley always remembered their stories. Both women were rather interested in him as well, and he let the now familiar detached sensation of wine and whispers carry him outside of himself.

The women directed him from the dining area of the inn to a bedroom on the upper floor. He was completely drunk, but still grateful tonight’s endeavor involved a bed. The previous evening featured a romp in the woods, and while getting shoved up against a tree had been a nice distraction, his back had hurt after the fact.

The ruckus of the party below was still close enough to hear, and Crowley felt his lips curl into a smile when he heard the collective disbelief over two such “proper” women retiring with a mysterious stranger. 

Crowley was supposed to convince the artist to begin an affair with a prominent lord, and the blonde to seduce a baker (why, he didn’t actually care.) He was about to do just that when the aforementioned woman’s teeth found his neck. The three of them bumbled into the bedroom, hastily shutting out the sounds of the bustling inn.

*******

The two women held each other close on the four-poster. He was grateful they were asleep so he could make his exit uninterrupted. The three had talked into the early hours of the morning. He hoped Cecile would see that she was worth more than her family gave her credit for. Margot hugged him when he told her he could help find her a patron. True to his word, he performed a demonic miracle to make sure she would find a place making illuminated manuscripts in close proximity to the young lord. Nature could take its course from there.

He then made sure that a certain father would find it impossible to lay a hand on his daughter. Every time the man would have thoughts of harming her, he would immediately be transported to a neighboring village in the nude. He always did prefer the subtle route. He forgot about the baker. Work done he went home to drink himself into oblivion.


	7. Fools Rush In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Fools Rush In”- Peggy Sue

_ Carpetania, 1480 A.D. _

By all accounts, it seemed Crowley had simply decanted himself onto the street. Aziraphale refused to consider how long the demon had been lying with his face in a puddle. It was lucky he’d been in Madrid, or who knew how long Crowley would have stayed there. 

“Angel!” he exclaimed, obviously elated. “I got a-hic-got a commendation!”

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale winced as passerby watched him tenderly peel his friend off the thoroughfare. “Let’s get you home. Erm. Where is your home anyway?”

“Ngk,” came the muffled reply as he scooped the demon up so they could start walking. Or what passed for walking, anyway. Crowley, for his part, had slung an arm over his shoulder to better toy with a lock of his hair. 

“I hate sherry,” he slurred delightedly into Aziraphale’s ear.

Crowley’s glasses were askew and his typically-alert eyes were bleary behind the black lenses. Aziraphale recognized that he was going to get nowhere with this line of questioning and switched tactics.

“Let’s head over to this wall. Here. We can just sit awhile. There’s a dear.” He let Crowley lean into him. This was definitely disquieting, and out of the ordinary for one of the demon’s occasional dark spells. “Have you tried sobering up?” 

After the vicious hangover following their first night drinking in Egypt, the pair had worked diligently to master the art of miracling themselves sober and had finally figured out how to do so with minimal effort. 

“Don’wanna be sober,” Crowley said obstinately. Then, to nobody in particular, shouted, “oh shut it now, can’t I even talk?” 

The fierceness of it was a glancing blow from out of nowhere, vanishing just as quickly. Crowley kept talking, voice at a normal register.

“I started the Inquis-in-que... you know, the holy torture thing,” he trailed off. Aziraphale stomach plummeted.

“Crowley,” he said, horrified. “You... Crowley no. You started all this?” Crowley laughed mirthlessly. 

“Seriously angel, what do you take me for?” If his feelings were hurt, Crowley recovered with all the ardor of the exceedingly drunk. He pointed downward with a clandestine expression. “But head office thinks I did. And I’m such a shit demon that I’m inclined to let them believe it if it gets them off my back awhile.” He smiled crookedly, his eyes unfocused. “Shall I tell him the best part then?”

“Tell who what now?” Aziraphale was trying hard to keep up. 

Crowley looked at him urgently. “Angel. Aziraphale. Do you remember me? Remember my name? Remember Heaven and the stars and-”, Crowley doubled over with a howl of pain sending Aziraphale into a panic. 

He drew his arms around his friend, a vain attempt to save him from whatever unseen force was attacking him. This was getting out of hand. When the fallen angel lifted his head, he had blood trickling from his nose to his chin. 

“Ok,” he murmured, quietly. “Let’s go home, angel.”

At a complete loss as to what to do, he let Crowley lead the way.

*******

Lust was not impressed. That was apparent even through his headache. Crowley had woken up with very little memory of getting back to his flat the day before, but oh boy, was she eager to fill him in.

“... and found you carrying on like some sort of lovesick child.” 

There was a break in her tirade and he was grateful. His mouth was full of cotton and his head was throbbing.

“And also, Crawly,” she continued and Crowley groaned, tossing a pillow over his head.

“It’s Crowley,” he corrected, voice a muffled whine. 

“I’m tired of watching you play footsie,” she snapped. Her voice was quiet as always but it cut through the downy pillow with ease. “If you think I won’t interrupt your little tête-à-têtes to make sure you’re holding up your end of the bargain, you’re very mistaken. He can’t see me anyway, and I can’t seem to trust you alone. You’ve had long enough. If you don’t get him into your bed none of this will work. That was the deal. You seduce the angel, he Falls, and you get to make the decision of staying here on Earth or going back to Hell with him. Really, you have options and win either way.”

Exhausted, he sat up on the edge of his bed, looking directly at the Vice.

“I’m not getting Aziraphale to Fall. I won’t do anything to betray him so you can just stop with your whole bloody speech. I really thought that just being near him, if only for a little while, would be enough for me to trot back to hell happy for the rest of eternity. If I could just know...really  _ know _ that he loved me back...But I’m endangering him with my hanging around. You can do whatever you like but I’m done.”  Lust stopped pacing and turned to regard him, eyes dazzling in the morning light. 

“Is that right darling?” 

*******

Aziraphale loved his little house. It was all warm wood and decorative silks and mountains of books. It was a planet with his most precious belongings in orbit and the sense of familiarity calmed him. His sentimentality might have been considered a weakness by the other angels, but he never saw the harm in cherishing his memories.

He heated up a cup of drinking chocolate and relaxed into his chair. Crowley’s behavior the day before had been bizarre, even by Crowley standards. Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to leave him alone, but the demon had drifted into a deep sleep as soon as he had gotten into bed. Aziraphale had spent several hours watching for any change and finding none, he had gone home. Crowley was known to sometimes “nap” for years (or decades) at a time, and while he didn’t relish the idea of not seeing his rival for so long, he wasn’t sure how to rouse him out of snake-like dormancy. So, he returned to his modest little house, attempting to douse the growing anxiety that had settled in his stomach. He didn’t expect to hear from Crowley for some time, let alone find him standing outside his door not 24 hours later. 

“Crowley, dear,” he rushed to the demon’s side immediately. “Are you all right? You had me really worried yesterday.”

“M’ fine, angel,” Crowley’s voice was as smooth as a river stone. “I had a nice rest and feel much better,” he yawned as if in punctuation. It was a monumental shift from where Aziraphale had left him the night before. Hoping for more of an explanation, he invited the demon in. With fluid grace he followed Aziraphale inside, closing the door behind them. 

Aziraphale busied himself with tidying to keep his nerves under control. Crowley had taken off his glasses and was looking at him intently from a seat at the table.

“What was that about anyway? Yesterday I mean,” he asked finally. Over the years he had come to realize the serpent could be slippery if not confronted directly. Not that he knew anything about evasive behavior, of course.

“Oh, you know. Just a little bender in honor of the New Order,” Crowley said, standing with a catlike stretch. “Can’t say I’m keen on how things have been shaking out. Bit bloody for my tastes.” 

“I have to thank you for helping me. I really lost it there for a minute,” Crowley smiled, sauntering over to stand so close that Aziraphale’s thoughts stuttered for a moment. He smelled like pear and freesia, smoke and petrichor. Suddenly, he ran his long fingers down Aziraphale’s arm with alarming gentleness. Their hands met and he laced their fingers together. “Pressures of the job and all that. You know how it can be.” The demon traced light circles on the back of his hand and Aziraphale’s mind scrambled to keep up. 

“N-no thanks needed, my dear,” Aziraphale cringed inwardly at his stutter. Crowley’s skin was soft, and he thought of holding him during the Plague. Remembered how he had berated himself later for having been so weak. It was too much to think Heaven wasn’t watching, then or now. His nerves hit home and he pulled his own hand away self-consciously. “I know you would have done the same for me.” 

“It makes me glad to hear you say that, angel.” The intensity of Crowley’s eyes made something inside him expand rapidly in a wave of heat. He was reminded that he was dealing with the Serpent of Eden, an ancient force of Hell and first tempter of humankind. Like a mouse caught in the gaze of a snake, he felt frozen to the spot. Then Crowley lifted a hand and his thumb glided over Aziraphale’s lower lip.

The touch made him swoon, and as Crowley’s thumb moved away, Aziraphale bit down, tasting the point of contact. He needed to focus, but he couldn’t believe this was happening. How many times had he imagined this very situation? How many nights had he left Crowley’s presence only to go home and fantasize about being held in his arms, touching his slight waist, kissing his lips?

But this was wrong. Only a fool stares directly into the sun. What he felt for the demon was too big and bright to fathom. Crowley’s hand moved along his jaw and tangled in his hair.  _ Something is wrong, _ a small part of him still protested, but he was too awash in desire to pay it any mind.

“Angel,” Crowley’s voice was nearly a whisper. 

“Crowley, I-,” Aziraphale began but Crowley’s lips were on his and every alarm bell in his mind went off simultaneously. In a blink his wings materialized and he shoved the demon backwards into the wall, sending a tapestry flying. 

“Who are you,” he demanded amid the clanging of pots and pans that were swept up and knocked to the floor. Crowley stumbled a bit and let out a laugh, high and vicious. The sound was horrible, like he had two sets of vocal cords.

_ “You!” _ The creature spat incredulously, discordant voice shaking Aziraphale to his core. “You love him! I can’t believe it!” 

“Tell me who you are before I destroy you where you stand.”

“Which name would you like, kitten? I go by many,” said Crowley’s voice, alone now but no less chilling. “Lust might be my current favorite so let’s go with that.” The being in Crowley’s skin shifted forward a bit, obviously unintimidated. 

“What have you done with him?” Aziraphale realized he actually cared very little about who he was dealing with. Hell itself could have attempted to swallow him whole and he would still fight until he found his friend, but he needed to come up with a plan.

“Wow, I must be a better puppeteer than I thought.” The voice was spot on, Lust had even captured the sneer. “He’s right here,” Crowley’s corporation spread its arms wide with a vindictive grin. “This is his body after all, I’m just borrowing it. Or possessing it if you want to be crass. He can’t hear us, of course, but he’s in here somewhere. To kill me is to kill him and he won’t be coming back from Hell this time. I own him. But what a pleasure to learn you’ve fallen in love!”

“Let him go,” Aziraphale’s voice sounded more commanding than he felt. Lust laughed. 

“I’m not sure you want that, dove. When I leave this form of his, the force of it will discorporate him. He’ll be sent back to Hell and that will be that. I was hoping you’d join us but it’s just as well.”

“What do you want with him?” Aziraphale asked, trying to keep Lust talking.

“Oh, it was you I wanted,” Crowley’s voice said silkily and Aziraphale felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine. 

“He was working for me to seduce you from Eden onward, of course. Did you really think he could have feelings for you? He’s a demon. But I can sense love when I feel it and you are steeped in it. Pitiful. Makes a simple seduction so much more complicated.”

Aziraphale felt the words like a punch to the gut but pressed on. “What if... what if I’m willing to take his place?” Lust laughed, a saccharine sound that was unsettling coming from Crowley’s mouth. 

“Oh, sweetness, you really are a sad case. I wanted you to  _ Fall, _ darling. It would have been a boon for me to bag an angel after the Rebellion. But it’s no matter. No use for an unsullied angel in Hell, I’m afraid. Now, I really must be going so let’s skip the speech about conquering evil with love. We both know it’s horseshit and it’s particularly tawdry when you’ve just lost.” Lust snapped Crowley’s fingers and vanished.


	8. Hell And You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Hell And You”-Amigo the Devil

Crowley woke to shuddering green light that made his head spin. He blearily took in his surroundings. Scummy linoleum floors, empty water cooler _(why do we even have that?)_ walls bare but for a motivational poster featuring a kitten and the phrase _“hang in there”_ picked out in comic sans. He groaned.

There was no mistaking the familiar waiting room for the recently discorporated. Everything came back to him in a rush: the argument, the sickening feeling of Lust entering his body, the nothingness that followed. 

How long had he been out? He racked his brain in desperation. It could be minutes or months before he was issued a new corporation. Where was Aziraphale? 

In three long strides he made it to the door with a red neon sign above it reading EARTH when he felt a strong grip pull him back. The demon Kadis, manager-on-duty for this department (and current Employee of the Month,) held him fast. Crowley hadn’t even heard him enter as he was too far gone in dark thoughts. He growled and rounded on Kadis who was holding a clipboard in one clawed hand and firmly clutching Crowley’s shoulder with the other. 

“Sorry mate,” the hulking demon said. “Says here you signed a contract with the Vice...” he checked the notes “...Lust. And as per section 9, paragraph 4 dash B in the Entity Seizure Clause, your eternal soul, as consigned to Hell, now belongs directly to her in the event of discorporation after reneging on your agreement. And well, here you are. Looks like you messed up, and you aren’t going back.” The sign flickered and died, while the papers on Kadis’ clipboard rustled as the door slammed.

“Bring me to her,” Crowley hissed.   
  


*******

As soon as Lust disappeared, Aziraphale had collected flasks of holy water and several blessed relics. He didn’t love the idea of heading out alone but it wasn’t as if he was getting any help from Heaven on this one.

Just as Heaven updated it’s decor (he really did miss the cloud-and-pillar aesthetic,) the entrances to Hell changed over time. The particular door he chose was at the bottom of a well next to the mouth of a small cave. Afraid to use a miracle that might give him away, he clambered down the ladder, forcing his mind to be still. If he went into this situation operating on rage alone, he’d be discorporated or worse. He needed to remain collected for Crowley’s sake. No hasty behavior. _Like kicking down the literal doors of Hell without a plan,_ he thought blithely.

When he got to the rather anticlimactic gates at the bottom of the ladder he rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, and strode inside. He wouldn’t leave until he got his demon back. 

*******

Richly carved mahogany doors opened to Lust’s throne room and Crowley tried (and failed) to brush past Kadis. The soft lighting was jarring after the grimy halls of Hell, and he thought the statues tied to the walls were odd until he realized they were intricately bound demons. Kadis escorted him past a crystalline pool to the far end of the room where Lust was waiting. She smiled at him from an alcove filled with pillows, and with a wave of her hand, Kadis stopped trying to wrangle Crowley and left. 

Barefoot and clad in strategically placed red leather bands, she was temptation personified. The translucent fabrics draping her bower were verdant shades of green, setting her bindings ablaze. He ignored the three collared demons luxuriating next to her, mostly because as soon as he had entered, the muscles in his legs began to seize. She was more exposed than he had ever seen her, but there was a power in her near-nakedness. She was in her element. 

“Where’s Aziraphale?” He demanded before she could speak.

“Not here, precious. You’ll never see him again and it’s all because you couldn’t use your Satan-given sense. If you had gotten him to Fall you two could at least be together. Now you’re stuck with me it seems.” She stood and walked over to him in a few graceful steps. 

He was going to retort but his mouth wouldn’t move. 

“It’s ok though,” she said, her voice a caricature of sympathy. He found he was rooted to the spot, unable to lift a finger. She leaned in until he could feel her breath on his ear. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t shout. 

“I’ll show you such a good time you won’t even remember your own name much less that of your angel’s.”

Lust snapped her fingers and the dark-haired demon from her harem brought her a delicately wrought metal tray. He could see the tools that lines it, glinting with the promise of violence. She donned a pair of thick red leather gloves, whistling a cheery tune as she selected a wicked scythe-like blade.

“Each of these instruments has been meticulously blessed for use in the Holy Inquisition we both know you didn’t really have the nerve to start. Seemed appropriate really, that you should get to experience them yourself.” She placed a slow kiss on his unmoving lips. “The safe word is ‘pineapple.’”

Crowley’s mind screamed in anguish when the first stab of pain scorched a jagged path across his abdomen.

*******

Aziraphale had been lucky. It seemed that since nobody but the eternally damned ever walked through Hell’s front door, the story about it being guarded by a three headed hound was outdated. What he found instead was a battered reception desk occupied by a scruffy-looking demon with a bulbous wart on his nose and a nametag reading “Delial.” Upon seeing Aziraphale, the demon’s green eyes snapped open wide, and he stumbled backwards out of his seat. Aziraphale was on him in a moment, grabbing him by the throat and pinning him to the floor with his knee to the chest before he could cry out. He brandished a steeple-shaped relic in front of Delial’s face, the metal edge glinting with ethereal light. 

“This is a blessed object, capable of reducing you to dust faster than you can flinch. If you so much as let out a whisper, I will end your existence here and now,” he ground out venomously, “I’ve had a very difficult day, so please don’t test me. Understood?” Delial nodded vigorously beneath his grip, and Aziraphale roughly pulled him to his feet, keeping the dagger-point on his jugular. “You’re going to take me to Lust. If you try to alert anyone before we get there I will annihilate you without a thought. Are we clear?” Another nod. “Good,” he said lightly, “let’s get a wiggle on.”

*******

Crowley was a rag doll suspended several inches off the ground, his thoughts tumbling around like so many loose dice. He wished he would just pass out. It would be a reprieve from the shock waves ricocheting through his corporation from the latest of Lust’s ministrations. She was good at what she did, keeping him conscious, writhing in pain. 

“No rest for you, lover,” she clicked her tongue disapprovingly, turning away from the array of torture devices to face him. Crowley stared her down. She removed her gloves and rested a hand on his battered cheek. His breath was coming in ragged gasps and he clenched his jaw in contempt. 

“You’re so far from obedient, pet. But I’ll break you, don’t worry. You’ll be my little dog by the time I’m through with you, running to lick my boots if I ask it of you.” She drew her hot tongue along his jawline, lapping up a small stream of blood as he burned with silent rage. 

“Now now,” she admonished playfully. “You can’t coax me into going faster, you naughty thing. I intend to draw this out, savor every moment.” She pulled the gloves back over her hands and pushed the sweat-slicked hair from his brow. “I think I’d like to hear you scream now.” She purled, lifting a sharp metal rod to his cheek. He realized he could move his mouth again. 

“Fuck y-,” he began and the world went white.

*******

His insides rearranged themselves as his feet met solid ground. Lust’s throne room had vanished and he squinted around himself, confused. He was in a long, bright space. It was white on all sides with a brilliant golden pillar of fire floating in what would be the middle if such constraints could be applied to the space.

His stomach never felt this upset in his dreams, and yet, what else could this be? Crowley’s body was restored and free of blood. It felt real enough. He patted himself down to be sure, and determined that while his corporation was indeed fine, he had actually lost his mind.

YOU UNDERESTIMATE YOUR MENTAL FACULTIES, CROWLEY. 

The voice reverberated in his head, in his heart, in his own throat. He felt a fresh wave of nausea but got it under control long enough to reply.

“Where am I?” His brain had plenty of questions but his mouth chose that one at random. 

YOU ARE BETWEEN. AMID. AMONGST.

He processed this with the singular kind of acceptance that is only achieved when one has finally snapped from reality.

“Sure. Between. And who are you?” 

I AM METATRON. THE ANGEL OF THE VEIL AND SPEAKER FOR THE ALMIGHTY.

“Gotcha,” he took in the ensuing silence as he rocked back and forth on his heels, finally clapping his hands together in front of him. “So. Why am I here? ‘Amongst’ I mean?”

YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED BY THE LORD. 

Some of the fog from Crowley’s mind.  
“What? What could She possssibly want with me? I’m Fallen remember? By Her own hand!” He noticed that he was shaking but couldn’t seem to stop.

AND YET SHE HAS CHOSEN YOU.

“And could you stop with the big scary ethereal being voice already? It’s making my guts heave,” Crowley was getting agitated. What could the Lord possibly want with him? It’s not like he’d been doing too well for himself at that exact juncture. 

“Is this better?” 

He looked up. The column of fire had been replaced by a severe looking man-shaped figure with golden wings. Crowley accepted it. Everything was weird so nothing was anymore.

“Sure. Erm. Thank you.”

“You will be approached by the harbingers of the Antichrist in the End Times,” Metatron continued, unphased by his discomfort. “You will play a very important role in the Apocalypse, as will Aziraphale.”

“He’s ok then? Has he Fallen? Will he-,” 

“He has not Fallen. He is in some immediate danger, however. He has taken it upon himself to come to your rescue. He will be annihilated by hellfire in a short time unless you agree to our terms.” 

“HA!” his laugh was a thunderclap that was deadened in a moment by the otherworldly space. “This is so usual for you lot. You claim to be such self-righteous saviors but there’s always a catch, right? I think I’ll take my chances. I didn’t need you before and I don’t intend to start now.” He turned to look for an exit. He was tired of being jerked around and Aziraphale-

“You love him.” 

Crowley stopped cold. So, they knew. Was it so obvious? He didn’t trust himself to speak so he just nodded. “That is why you have been Chosen. Your love will sustain you in the challenges to come. I’m afraid, however, your companion will not make it far if you do not act now.”

“What do you want me to do,” he mumbled, acutely remembering the last deal he had made and how that was shaking out for him. He felt very much like a pawn. 

“You’ll know what to do when the time comes,” Metatron said cryptically.

Crowley promised himself that if he survived this whole ordeal he would take a much needed break from ethereal and occult beings (Aziraphale excluded of course.) He was well and truly over the games, the cloak and dagger bullshit. He had to get back. 

“And you mustn’t talk to the angel of this until the time comes,” Metatron’s voice was firm. 

“Fucking naturally,” Crowley threw up his hands. “It wouldn’t be my life if I got to be honest for once.” 

Metatron ignored him. “You will be able to find the angel anywhere. Just feel for his presence. You will be handed the Antichrist at The End of Times and from there you must work very closely with Aziraphale. Convince him that your route is the best course of action at all costs. The two of you will need to cooperate to complete the Plan. He is integral to this just as you are.” 

Crowley’s laughed desperately. “So, you want me to simply know what’s to be done when the Apocalypse comes and talk Aziraphale into going along with me? After lying to his face by omission. Great. Check. And you’ll get us out of this whole... Hell situation?” 

Metatron expression was blank but Crowley felt a sense of warmth from their person. “Exactly.”

“And in the meantime I can continue going about my business on Earth? I’m still a demon?” Metatron gave a small nod. 

“We chose you _because_ you are a demon. This particular project requires both heavenly and hellish influence. We have been watching you and Aziraphale for some time and believe that you would be well suited for the task.” Crowley snorted. 

“You haven’t tried to talk this particular angel into anything it seems. He’s a right bastard. But sure. I don’t exactly have much to go on but I don’t think I have options either.” Crowley was ranting now but was also well past caring. Metatron kept their unsettling eyes on his and he looked away. “You couldn’t have hopped in before I started getting tortured though?” Metatron made no move to explain that one and Crowley huffed a breath. “Fine. Deal struck. So, what happens now?” 

Metatron broke their stoic countenance and smiled. 

*******

Crowley was slammed back into his body with such force that he struggled for air, feeling every rib contract painfully as he did so. He had the distinct pleasure of watching Lust recoil in shock, the metal rod dropping with a clatter. 

“What-,” she said just as Aziraphale burst through the double doors. He was wrestling a lesser demon, holding some sort of sharp object to his throat. Crowley felt a surge of love and pride. _Still a soldier,_ he thought. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s eyes were wild but the relief was apparent in his voice. 

Crowley’s blood was dripping freely onto the tiled floor, filling the cracks and crevices with rivulets of red. _Don’t need that anyways,_ he thought blearily. His brain was rapid-firing through thoughts, memories...promises. Completely strung out, he pondered how he was going to explain this one to the angel or if he’d even get the chance. He wondered if Aziraphale liked cilantro, what the lines on his palm looked like, whether he preferred spring or autumn. He thought back to kissing him in Heaven. 

Lust recovered first, stepping away from where Crowley was floating to face Aziraphale head-on. The Principailty’s grip loosened on the scraggly demon and the lackey took the opportunity to barrel out of the swinging doors. Lust’s harem followed suit.

“Oh boy, tiger, have you made the wrong move,” Lust crooned, and with a flash of pearlescent teeth, she sent a volley of blades flying through the air at Aziraphale. Crowley cried out, but the impact never came. Aziraphale’s hands had come up in a vain attempt to protect himself, and he stood frozen as they fell harmlessly to the floor. If Lust was shocked, she didn’t show it, and released a blast of hellfire from her fingertips.

The fire licked its way up Aziraphale’s arms and engulfed his hands. The pyre was blinding but when the smoke cleared, the angel was still standing. His expression was blank and his eyes completely white. 

Lust raised a hand to let loose more hellfire, panicked now. Crowley watched, disbelieving, as Aziraphale spread six glowing white wings, each covered in a hundred staring eyes. A brilliant blue aura emanated off of him. It touched the pool and the light refracted, causing Crowley to flinch and look away. When he opened his eyes she was still disintegrating without so much as a scream. He felt himself crumble to the floor.


End file.
